


picture perfect

by thunderylee



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Breathplay, Canon Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12392136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand fantasies.





	picture perfect

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written with ayamehadouken for kink bingo (pictures).

Sometimes Taguchi misses the old days of camera film and developing solution. There’s something about the atmosphere of a darkroom that just leads to darkness beyond the lack of light, blinding him to the shame. If he can’t see it, it’s not there. All he sees are the pictures. It’s not really the same effect with a computer, though Taguchi still hides in his closet. It’s easier to just push a button on his phone anyway

It’s harmless, really. Nothing happens in the daylight, except for the inconspicuous picture-taking to begin with. Taguchi never plans on sharing this hobby with his unknowing leading man. As long as everything stays safely in his head, there’s nothing wrong with it, right? He can do whatever he wants, fantasize about whatever he wants, and no one will know but him.

The truth is that he likes the way it feels, to scroll through the thousands of pictures on his hard drive and continue their stories in his head. That hand reaching for something, and finding it in Taguchi’s pants. Those beautiful eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering on his cheek, and opening to stare right at Taguchi with feelings that he can only imagine.

Lately Taguchi’s been focusing on hands, especially since Nakamaru’s been bringing in his thesis materials and making notes. Nakamaru pays Taguchi no mind when he sits across from him, too wrapped up in worrying over deadlines and note-taking. It’s the perfect opportunity, his picture-taking mistaken for texting or playing games.

Today it seems like something is bothering Nakamaru; his fingers clench around his pen, the tendons standing out in stark relief against the back of his hand. Taguchi thinks he envies it. He wonders what he would be like to rile Nakamaru up, make him so angry he fists those hands in his shirt and wraps delicate fingers around his neck.

He narrowly catches himself before he starts fantasizing right there at work. Not in the daylight, right? That was the deal. But it’s so tempting, Nakamaru in front of him with his gorgeous hands that only look better _in motion_.

For the first time, Taguchi sets the video function on his camera phone and gets an entire four minutes of Nakamaru just flipping pages and scribbling furiously, pausing to run his thumbs along his fingertips as he thinks, and Taguchi makes it until he reaches up to scratch his throat before he has to look away. This just means that the remainder of the video is all new to him when he watches it back later, and Taguchi doesn’t think he’s ever bounced back from an orgasm so fast in his life, even when he was young.

Often he wonders if Nakamaru would be gentle, should he ever touch Taguchi deep inside. Normally Taguchi does it the other way, but he already knows he’d be putty in Nakamaru’s hands, bending whichever way they pleased.

A few days pass before Taguchi sees Nakamaru again, their rotation for their radio show finally pairing them up. He’d been going through his emergency folder of pictures and getting dangerously close to having to open up the files he had secreted away on a flash drive.

Of course he couldn’t fiddle with his phone during the broadcast, but there was plenty of time before they started; they liked to go over their notes beforehand.

Taguchi has his phone out, fingers tapping the familiar path to the camera. He’s content, happily adding to his collection of pictures. That’s when Nakamaru clears his throat. Taguchi looks up, smile falling at the stern expression on his face.

“I know you’re not texting anyone. You aren’t playing a game, either.”

Taguchi freezes at the look on Nakamaru’s face, but he’s quick to recover and fixes him with a blank look. “Hmm?”

“You think you’re so sneaky,” Nakamaru says, and Taguchi swallows. “I don’t know why you keep taking pictures of me, and I probably don’t want to, but it’s really distracting and I’d like you to stop. Please.”

Slowly, hanging his head like a dog who just got scolded, Taguchi nods and puts away his phone. “Sorry.”

“Hey.” Those fingers are on his chin, lifting it up, and there’s no way Nakamaru could miss the hitch in his breath. “Oh.”

Taguchi swallows again, this time much more thickly, and Nakamaru’s eyes drop down to Taguchi’s throat.

“My hands?” Nakamaru asks, half incredulous, half enamored, and Taguchi nods. “What about them?” He actually sounds curious, and nowhere near as upset as Taguchi would have thought he’d be.

Taguchi shrugs a little helplessly as he figures out what to say. Nakamaru simply waits quietly, though he’s let go of his chin.

“They’re nice,” he finally says. He goes on, mostly prompted by the face Nakamaru makes in response, as if he really wants to say _And?_ “Your fingers look delicate and the bones of your wrists look pretty. Also I wonder what your hands would feel like on me, in me.”

There, he’s said it and confessed. He’s not sure how Nakamaru is taking it though; the other is silent, face carefully neutral.

This isn’t what he expected at all. This is Nakamaru, who gets flustered over anything sexual and can’t even look at Koki’s porn rags without blushing. This same Nakamaru is standing here completely still and calm, staring at Taguchi like he’d just said something lame instead of his secret fetish.

Then his fingers are back on Taguchi’s face, trickling along his jaw, and Taguchi can’t catch the breath that leaves him. “We have to do our show,” Nakamaru says, almost apologetic. “Can we continue this conversation later?”

“I-yes,” Taguchi answers, trying not to sound too hopeful as he nods once and takes his seat, adjusting his headphones accordingly.

It’s incredibly difficult to concentrate, but he makes it well enough, at least until he feels something suspiciously like fingers crawling up his thigh.

He squirms in his seat as inconspicuously as he can, though it doesn’t escape Nakamaru’s notice. This is probably the most agonizing hour of his life, trying to navigate his way through the show and then wait for Nakamaru to finish chatting with seemingly everyone and their mothers. He smiles and tries not to fidget, and Taguchi’s more than ready to follow along when Nakamaru simply jerks his head in a silent order to come along.

Taguchi gladly slides into the passenger seat of Nakamaru’s car, fully expecting him to resume their conversation. Instead, Nakamaru is quiet for the entire drive back to his apartment. All Junno can do is watch the way Nakamaru’s hands wrap around the steering wheel and stray along the stereo controls.  
“I’m really aware of my hands now,” Nakamaru says once they walk through the door and kick off their shoes. The hands in question are hanging by his sides, shaking in emphasis.

“They’re nice hands,” Taguchi whispers, but the silence in the apartment is so great that he may as well have screamed it.

He’s not looking at Nakamaru, so it comes as a complete surprise when he feels fingers on his face, lifting it up.

“Nakamaru?” Taguchi asks.

Nakamaru takes a deep breath before holding out his hands, palms-up. “Here.”

Taguchi blinks. “Huh?”

“Just don’t hurt me,” Nakamaru says firmly. “Otherwise, do whatever you want.”

“Really?” Taguchi almost can’t believe it. Nakamaru had said _anything_. “Could I keep taking pictures?”

Nakamaru looks a little reluctant at that, but he sets his jaw and nods. Taguchi can’t believe his luck, and he grabs Nakamaru by both hands to the couch. “Not right now, of course. I like catching pictures of you when you’re not paying attention to me,” Taguchi says. “They’re just better that way.”

For a few minutes, there’s only silence. Nakamaru tugs his hands back, looking a little uncomfortable. That won’t do at all, and Taguchi reaches for him once more.

“You don’t…” Nakamaru starts, trailing off when Taguchi seizes him by the wrists, loosely but with his thumbs on the pulse points. “You’d rather look at pictures than have them for real?”

“For real?” Taguchi repeats, eyes widening and heart racing at the suggestion. “I don’t think you’ll want to do what I imagine you doing.”

“Will it hurt?” Nakamaru asks, and Taguchi almost smiles at his naivety.

“It won’t hurt you,” Taguchi says gently as he lifts Nakamaru’s hands to his throat.

Nakamaru looks confused for a moment, but that passes when Taguchi presses his hands tighter. His eyes darken as he realizes what it is that Taguchi wants, and Nakamaru squeezes. It’s gentle at first, but shortly Nakamaru tightens his grasp.

Taguchi is in bliss, and it’s hard to keep his eyes open as his breath is cut off. He taps at Nakamaru’s arm when it’s almost too much; Nakamaru lets go, but keeps his hands around Taguchi’s throat. One thumb caresses his adam’s apple, and Taguchi sighs happily.

“Again, please.”

Nakamaru nods, squeezing the breath out of him again. Taguchi can feel himself getting hard, and he thinks he could probably come like this. That would be fun, but it would be even better to find out if Nakamaru could be even rougher.

“This…feels good?” Nakamaru asks, his voice a whisper.

Taguchi tries to nod, but he’s halted by Nakamaru’s hands around his neck. “It does.”

Slowly, Nakamaru slides his fingers up and down Taguchi’s throat, getting progressively tighter with each run. “And this is what you think about when you look at those pictures.”

“Not just this,” Taguchi admits. “You’re doing other things to me, too.”

“Like what?” Nakamaru is much closer now, stepping into Taguchi’s personal space, his hands lifting to cup Taguchi’s jaw. Taguchi feels Nakamaru’s thumb brush his chin and tries not to fall apart.

“Touching me,” Taguchi gasps out, his body on fire. “Everywhere.”

He watches Nakamaru’s lips form a straight line, thoughtful, and Taguchi tugs on Nakamaru’s wrist until it drops to his waist. Those fingers instantly go under his shirt, drifting along the skin of his side, and Taguchi’s next breath hitches.

“Roughly,” he adds.

“Roughly,” Nakamaru confirms, and then drags his fingernails up Taguchi’s side.

“Harder.” It’s not enough.

Nakamaru frowns for moment. He looks a little disquieted, but he changes tactics. He shifts his hands to wrap around Taguchi’s arms and yanks him down the hallway.

_This is more like it_ , Junno thinks, too busy with stumbling along behind Nakamaru to voice his thoughts.

The bed seems to bounce him back as Nakamaru throws him down on it, pinning Taguchi’s wrists above his head. Taguchi can tell that Nakamaru’s using his real strength because he can’t move, both hands completely restrained, and he doesn’t bother trying to hold back his favorable reaction as Nakamaru stares down at him in a mixture of disbelief and arousal.

“Junno,” he says softly as he straddles Taguchi’s waist, and Taguchi can’t stop his hips from pushing against him. “You really like this.”

It’s not a question, but Taguchi confirms it anyway. “I do.”

Nakamaru brings his hand down to Taguchi’s waist again, grabbing much harder this time, and Taguchi moans at the rush he gets from it.  
“ _Please_ , Yuichi,” Taguchi gasps.

Nakamaru’s voice is rough when he speaks. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me, as hard as you can.” Taguchi groans at the way Nakamaru squeezes his wrists, like he wants to grind his bones together. Then he lets go and starts tearing at Taguchi’s clothes.

He tries to help Nakamaru get him undressed, but he isn’t having any of that. Nakamaru bats Taguchi’s hands out of the way, and he’s never been more glad to get caught doing things he shouldn’t have been doing in the first place.  
“You,” Nakamaru hisses as he tears Taguchi’s shirt over his head and shoves his pants down. Taguchi arches at the feeling of denim rubbing against his cock and Nakamaru pauses in his own disrobing.

“Please,” Taguchi says again, and Nakamaru’s eyes darken. The last of their clothes are kicked to the floor and Nakamaru spreads Taguchi’s thighs, which quiver under his steady gaze until he leans over to his nightstand.

“I won’t do it raw,” he whispers, almost apologetically. “I refuse to hurt you.”

“Okay,” Taguchi agrees, ready to accept any kind of negotiation just to feel Nakamaru inside him.

Nakamaru’s touch returns, a slick drag of his fingers against Taguchi’s thighs. He arches up, trying to get some friction. Instead, Nakamaru pinches the underside of his knee with his free hand.

Taguchi gasps in shock at that, and Nakamaru slides two fingers inside him while he’s distracted. Even though Nakamaru refuses to outright hurt him, the sudden stretch is just enough pain. It’s even better than he’d ever imagined while poring over his stolen moments alone.

Nakamaru suddenly withdraws, and Taguchi whines. “You’re going to watch,” he murmurs, slicking himself before lining up with his entrance. Taguchi nods, hands clenched against the headboard.

It’s difficult to keep his eyes open as Nakamaru pushes in, the slow burn threatening to take him over. His hips buck up in search of Nakamaru’s hands and they’re not disappointed, those fingers sliding up his torso now that he’s burying himself inside Taguchi. They’re not gentle by any means, pressing with enough force to leave red marks in their wake, and Taguchi arches from the ache.

“Fuck,” Nakamaru gasps, pressing the expletive into Taguchi’s collarbone. “You’re really tight. Are you sure you want it hard?”

“Yes,” Taguchi replies, his own hands grasping for purchase on Nakamaru’s shoulders. “Just let go and give it to me.”

“Okay,” Nakamaru says, sounding uncertain, but it’s followed by a low groan as he starts to move in and out.

Nakamaru is slow at first, mouthing at the side of Taguchi’s neck as he gradually speeds up. Taguchi digs his fingers into Nakamaru’s shoulders, scratching him and willing Nakamaru to go even faster. He can’t quite make words, only breathless noises of want.

He’s shocked when Nakamaru bites down on his collarbone, _hard_. Nakamaru has shifted a bit, changing the angle of his thrusts, and Taguchi isn’t sure he can last much longer.

“I’m almost…” Taguchi trails off, hoping that Nakamaru just gets it.

It seems he does, because in the next moment, Nakamaru is wrapping a hand around him. It’s mostly dry, rough friction, and it feels so good that Taguchi thinks he might be on the verge of tears.

Then Nakamaru’s other hand slides up his chest, shakily through the thin layer of sweat that has formed from their efforts and those fingers wrap loosely around Taguchi’s neck, just the slightest amount of pressure on his adam’s apple sending him over the edge like he’d been yanked forward.

Nakamaru’s moans take him higher, escalating into uncontrollable wails as he pounds into Taguchi so hard that the bed rattles and for a second Taguchi actually thinks it might break. It’s hard and rough and everything he wanted, hands gripping onto Taguchi’s hips tightly enough to bruise as he starts to falter in his rhythm, gasping Taguchi’s first name.

Finally Nakamaru stills, pulsing deep inside Taguchi. He kind of gasps a little, and collapses onto him as he slips out of him. They lay there, a sweaty tangle of limbs, and Taguchi can’t help but laugh, almost on the edge of hysteria.

Nakamaru raises his head a little, the question he wants to ask written all over his face.

“I’m fine, Yuichi, just fine. Don’t look so worried.” That seems to appease Nakamaru, and he sits up a little as he actually verbalizes his next question.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Nakamaru’s eyes can’t quite meet his as he continues. “You know, for later.”

“I have a better idea,” Nakamaru says, reaching for his own phone on the nightstand. Taguchi watches curiously as Nakamaru runs his fingers down his arm, raising goosebumps all the way down to where he covers Taguchi’s hand with his and laces their fingers together.

That’s what he takes a picture of, and Taguchi has a feeling it’s the only one he’ll look at from now on.


End file.
